


greensleeves

by purple01_prose



Series: turning side-stories [1]
Category: Epic (2013)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aisling is oblivious, Alternate Universe - Police, F/M, Finn tries so hard, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple01_prose/pseuds/purple01_prose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 Times Finn tries to get Aisling to realize she's being courted, and the time he says bullshit. //turning-verse</p>
            </blockquote>





	greensleeves

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the-leafwoman.

**Part One: First Meeting**

Finn whistles tunelessly to himself as he pours a cup of coffee. Captain Vigile is coming in with the most recent graduates of the Academy today, and he’s helping Chief Martin with assigning each graduate.

 

That means Finn has to be on his best behavior. Ronin lets him, well, ‘play,’ but Martin is a stick-in-the-mud.

 

He sighs, adding in some powdered creamer and some sugar. The sooner Martin retires, the better.

 

“Excuse me?” someone asks, and he turns to see a woman standing in the bullpen. “Can you direct me to the—“

 

“Let me guess, recent graduate?” he eyes her. She stands perfectly straight, and she’s incredibly thin—like a dancer, he’d guess. Her brown hair is braided back, highlighting her severe features. She’s dressed in civvies (they don’t begin work until tomorrow, today is Orientation), a white shirt, black pants, and a coat hung over her arm. He sticks his hand out. “I’m Lieutenant Finn Sutter, currently working Vice.”

 

“Aisling Chêne,” the woman says, taking his hand. She’s got a nice grip, and he likes the press of her fingers against his.

 

No, Finn. Don’t hit on the baby officers.

 

“So I’m guessing you did really well at the Academy,” he comments as he gestures for her to follow him.

 

“Why do you say that?” she asks suspiciously.

 

“You’re here a full hour before you actually had to be here,” he explains. “Only the top graduates,” the overachievers, he thinks but chooses not to say, “do that.”

 

“I was at the top of my class,” Aisling says quietly, “so that is true.”

 

“Welcome to Moonhaven PD,” he says honestly, opening the door to the room where they gather when Ronin or Martin needs to debrief them. “If I can help you with anything, here’s my number.”

 

She takes his card with bemusement (they all carry them while interviewing witnesses and everything), and he says, a little more deep-voiced, “Anything.”

 

“That should be very nice,” she says vaguely, “thank you.”

 

**Part Two: Coffee**

Aisling managed to swallow a yawn as she slides into her desk. She’s _just_ moved up from being a beat cop, and she’s been assigned to Vice to work with Finn. He’s been fairly comfortable to be around since they first met, so she’s content with the assignment.

 

Finn taps her desk (apparently he’s already in). “Hey, what do you want for coffee?” he asks brightly, “Since we’re partners and everything.”

 

Coffee is her secret love, and she rarely drinks the burned swill at the station for that reason. “It’s complicated,” she says slowly.

 

“I can write it down,” Finn says, smiling slightly.

 

It’s a nice smile, and she looks down, her cheeks heating slightly. “Double espresso shot, vanilla shot, caramel shot, half steamed milk, with whipped cream on top.”

 

When she looks back up, Finn’s tucking something in his pocket. “All right, got it! I’ll be back soon.”

 

There’s already a couple of cases she and Finn have been assigned (tertiary Boggan issues, Bufo as well), and she absorbs herself in the facts of the case until Finn says, “Here!” She looks up to grab the coffee, and when she takes a sip, it’s perfect and exactly how she would make it.

 

“...it could be warmer,” she says, taking another sip.

 

Finn shrugs. “I’ll make sure next time.”

 

**Part Three: Injuries**

Finn knocks on Aisling’s hospital door. She’s in the middle of the crossword from the _Moonhaven Gazette_ , and she looks up at his knock.  “9 letter word for upper class,” she says flatly.

 

“Bourgeois,” he offers, closing the door behind him. She makes a noise in the back of her throat, marking it with her pen. He puts down a vase of roses on her table, handing her her coffee. She takes it, sipping it absently, and he waits to see if she notices it’s perfect.

 

She hums absently, putting it down. “What am I missing at work?”

 

He sighs internally. Strike out—again. “Not much, honestly. We got the Boggan who shot you, but Mandrake’s lawyer is hard at work on getting him out. I don’t know how strong the case is for him, since we’ve got him at the scene with drugs _on_ him, _and_ there’s several witnesses corroborating that he shot you spontaneously.”

 

“So there’s nothing for me to do,” she grumbles, leaning back on her blankets. “And I’ve finished my crossword.”

 

“I will get you more crosswords,” he tells her patiently, sitting in the chair next to her bed. “Besides, Ronin wants you to rest so you can come back faster.”

 

Aisling rubs her right arm absently. One of the bullets had been lodged right against her humerus bone, and the other had grazed her side. She has physical therapy to look forward to—she’s not going to be back in the field for months. “I feel useless.”

 

That he does understand. “Then it’s a good thing I brought playing cards, isn’t it?” he pulls out a deck of cards, grinning at her. “You don’t seem like the type to consider playing cards a sin or something,” he teases, thinking about her personal religious history.

 

She rolls her eyes. “Give them here, so I can shuffle properly.”

 

“I can shuffle,” he protests, sliding the deck out of the box and starting to shuffle them.

 

\--Which he _would_ be doing, if she didn’t snatch the deck from his hands. “Nice try,” she snarks, starting to shuffle them like a card dealer in a casino. “I’ve got this.” She peers at him. “Poker?”

 

“What should we bet?” He thinks of what he _could_ recommend, but while Aisling’s face after he offers strip poker could be amusing, it wouldn’t be a good idea, given her injuries.

 

Aisling hums. “Coffee runs?”

 

He grins. “You’re on.”

 

**Part Four: Coffee (deux)**

Aisling thinks, uncharitably, of Finn’s ridiculous love for fluffy sweaters and how it secretly means he wasn’t hugged enough as a child. He’s extremely excited for autumn, (“It’s my favorite season, Aisling! _Favorite. Season.”_ ), and today on their daily coffee run, he’s asked for the pumpkin spice latte.

 

Aisling shudders delicately.  Uncultured _swine_.

 

She looks up at the board, just to clarify they have the pumpkin spice latte, and once she has confirmed they do,  she steps forward to order. “I would like a large pumpkin spice latte and a double shot of espresso, with a shot of vanilla and a shot of caramel--.”

 

The girl manning the register interrupts. “Oh, you want the Aisling, right?”

 

She blinks. “Excuse me?”

 

For answer, the girl points up at the board, and Aisling reads, ‘NEW DRINK, FOUND ONLY AT THE HUMMINGBIRD CAFÉ, THE AISLING: DOUBLE SHOT OF ESPRESSO, WITH A SHOT OF CARAMEL AND A SHOT OF VANILLA, WITH HALF STEAMED MILK AND TOPPED WITH WHIPPED CREAM.’

 

“...yes. I would like the Aisling,” she says stiffly. “How did you come by it?”

 

“Oh, one of the detectives, Det. Sutter? He comes in like every other morning to get coffee for himself and his partner, and he kept ordering this one thing, and one of our other regulars finally ordered it, and the ball just rolled from there. It’s very popular, actually—Det. Sutter provided the name when asked about it.”

 

“I see,” she says, taking her coffee and paying the cashier.  The cashier beams before taking the next order.

 

She keeps it together until she gets to Finn’s desk, slamming down his coffee. “Your _seasonally flavored beverage_ ,” she hisses, sitting down at her own desk.

 

“You are such a coffee snob,” Finn shakes his head. “What happened, your parents gave you only elite coffee from the time you were old enough to drink it so now you can taste the lack of quality?”

 

...actually yes, but she’s not about to tell him that. “Why on earth did you let them make my coffee into a regular beverage?” she demands, sipping from her coffee. Despite her internal spite, it tastes just as good as always, and she feels frustrated. “It was _mine_.”

 

“They’re a business, and whatever works, they’re going to sell. It _happened_ to be popular—Ms. Fleur heard my order every morning I went to get coffee, and she tried it, and it happened! You should be flattered you have such good taste,” Finn smirks at her.

 

“You didn’t have to name it after me,” she says sourly.

 

Finn shrugs. “You created it, isn’t it only right that I name it after you?”

 

She takes another sip of coffee, watching him. “I wish you had told me,” she says at last.

 

“Then you would’ve changed your order,” Finn says, winking at her.

 

She flushes. “I—would never do that.”

 

He watches her, chin resting on his hand, and finally she looks away, blushing a little more before she mutters, “...maybe.”

 

“You know that’s right,” Finn sings out.

 

**Part Five: Injuries (deux)**

“I am so grateful for the Women’s Club of Moonhaven,” Finn tells Aisling as she gets up to refill her wineglass in his kitchen. She’s drinking _his_ nice red wine, but given that his medications mean he can’t touch alcohol, so at least it’s not going to waste, but he _wants_ wine. “It means I don’t have to eat the mold in my fridge for another week.”

 

“Like you’d _let_ mold grow in your fridge,” Aisling says dryly, coming back into the living room, glass of red wine in one hand and a soda for him in the other. “Your mother is a cook, and she’d skin you before you let that happen.”

 

He takes the soda and eyes the cheeky straw in the soda can. “Aisling....”

 

She raises her eyebrows and sips her wine. “I sought to make it easier for you.”

 

“You’re full of shit,” he accuses, drinking from the straw anyway. “And yeah, okay, my chef mother would have issues with a dirty kitchen, but still, I’m glad that the ladies of Moonhaven brought me casseroles, they’re what I’d never make for myself.”

 

“I rather dislike casseroles,” Aisling muses, leaning back against the couch. “I like to discern the individual tastes.”

 

“Too many tuna casseroles as a child?” Finn grins.

 

She sighs. “Yes.”

 

“Some casseroles are good, I’ll make one for you sometime.” He winks at her. “Chef mom, remember? If I don’t know a way around a kitchen, my mother would come from Boston to beat some sense into me.”

 

“Hmph,” Aisling says, but he knows what that means, and he relaxes.

“Yes,” he crows, turning up the volume on the television. “My dysfunctional fairy tale family sitcom!”

 

“I do not believe this show could be classified as a ‘sitcom.’ Perhaps ‘soap opera.’”

 

Finn pouts, and he blames the medication. “Oh come on, having the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming _and_ the Evil Queen fight over custody of some poor child? That’s not the makings of a sitcom to you?”

 

“Perhaps an episode of Jerry Springer or _Days of Our Lives_. Give me the remote.” Aisling takes it and finds a rerun of her favorite dysfunctional sitcom.

 

Finn pouts more. “You only like this show because the cheerleading coach reminds you of you.”

 

“She is amusing,” Aisling allows.

 

“She’s freaking _abusive_.”

 

“Well yes, that too.”

 

“Give me the remote,” Finn orders, and Aisling passes it over without a complaint. He finally finds a show they both adore, Watson and her adoring sidekick, and they settle in without further snark.

 

“Thank you,” she says awkwardly after the episode is over but before the next on has begun. “I remember that you got shot covering me. I—thank you.”

 

He looks over at her. “It’s what I needed to do,” he says. Maybe this time she’ll get it.

 

She fidgets a little. “I recognize that we’re partners, and--.”

 

“Aisling. I didn’t take a bullet covering you because we’re partners. I took a bullet because it’s _you_.”

 

She shrugs. “I’d take a bullet for you as well.”

 

Curses, foiled again.

 

**+1: And The Time Finn Decided That This Was Bullshit**

Finn takes delight in trolling Aisling. That and his (failed) attempts to get her to realize he’s been interested in her in the seven or so years that they’ve worked together are his primary goals in life at this point.

 

Sending Aisling to collect Nod when the kid’s no doubt, ah, _preoccupied_ with MK is just the icing on the cake.

 

Part of it is based on how long it’ll take Aisling to snap and yell/otherwise accuse him of trolling her. The other part of it is that he’s feeling a wee bit bitter about how obvious he’s being and she’s just _not picking up on it_.

 

So his life has devolved to trolling her.

 

He’s been aware of Arya’s pool on them getting together for some time—Arya runs the pools for _everything_. Finding out about the longstanding pool on the two of them had not been hard, although he’s vaguely offended it’s only been going for five years. He’s not all that subtle, a side-effect of being Boston Irish.

 

But then again, he and Aisling didn’t have that much contact before she moved up from being a beat cop.

 

Betting had apparently increased exponentially when he left Vice for Homicide, about two years after he and Aisling became partners. Apparently _they_ had understood that he’d left Vice because he wanted to persuade Aisling to a relationship, and that would’ve been hard to do if they were still partners in the same department.

 

Aisling had missed that message completely.

 

He trolls her in other small things—her coffee is just subtly off, a dash of sugar where there used to be none, or that he gets her a vanilla bean scone instead of her preferred bran muffin, or he doesn’t drive as quickly as he used to in their cruises (she gets impatient).

 

When he catches her reading _Game of Thrones_ , he starts to quote it when it’s applicable.

 

“We’ll have to be careful around this former Boggan territory, because the night is dark and full of terrors.”

 

“I can’t wait for pumpkin spice at the coffee shop, because winter is coming.”

 

“Are you looking forward to Swan Lake? Sometimes it makes me forget life is not a song.”

 

“When you play the game of Assassin, you win or you die.” (Heading into the school year, the detectives play a game of Assassin every year. The winner from the previous year is the Mastermind the next year. Aisling _almost_ won last year, but she’s determined to win this year).

 

“Hey Aisling,” he holds onto her elbow, and she scowls up at him.

 

“If you’re going to quote more of _Game of Thrones_ , I’m _going_ to severely injure you.”

 

“I’m just excited that you finally get my references,” he says earnestly, glancing at the people around him. A mysterious bettor (read: him) just made a brand new bet, and he’s going to make it happen. Today. He steels himself. “In all seriousness, that’s not what I wanted to tell you.”

 

“What did you want to tell me?” she asks suspiciously.

 

“Guess,” he says, seeing Ronin over Aisling’s shoulder and ducking his eyes to meet Aisling’s.

 

“Finn, I don’t have time for this.”

 

“I’ve been trying to find ways to tell you this for years,” he tells her, rubbing her elbow lightly with his thumb. “You’re very stubborn and you don’t see the right way.”

 

“What are you talking about?” she asks, confusion starting to flood her eyes.

 

“I’ve known for a while that you’ve been...” how _not_ to put this like they’re in high school. He settles on, “I know. About you and me.”

 

“I really don’t understand--.”

 

Finn rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss her. Their only parts of contact are his hand on her elbow and their lips, and he keeps it chaste and light.

 

She freezes completely, and she takes a step back. “What—what was that for?” she rasps, reddening. Finn frowns. Something about this isn’t right, and he’s aware of applause around them.

 

“Why are you upset?” he asks her, a little concerned. “I thought you wanted--.” He’s been reading this correctly, hasn’t he?

 

“This was in public,” she hisses.

 

Finn gets it. “If it was in public, you were less likely to hit me?” he offers, and when she stiffens, he says, “Let’s take this outside, okay? I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

 

She leads him out, her back very straight (he’s picked up by now that she only relies on her dancer’s posture when she feels insecure or unsafe, and he feels a twinge of guilt), and they head into the most private aspect of the park behind the police station. “What?” she bites out.

 

“You’ve been in love with me for a while,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets and turning to look at a mama duck squawk at her ducklings.

 

“I—what—I--.”

 

“It’s okay, because I’ve been in love with you for a while too,” he says casually, and he sees her jump out of the corner of his eye. “Probably a little longer than you, to be honest. I’ve been trying to tell you for a while, but you never seemed to get it.”

 

“What do you mean?” she asks, moving over to join him in watching the mama duck get her babies in line.

 

“I memorized your coffee order because it made you happy. Remember when you and I had that one undercover thing? I danced with you because I wanted to, not because our cover called for it. I took a bullet for you because I’d rather be laid up for weeks than see you in pain.”

 

“You never...” she trails off.

 

“I tried,” he tells her, raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t exactly listen.”

 

She looks down. “I thought you were playing me. In the station. In high school—never mind. It seemed like it came out of nowhere, and given that you’d been aggravating me, I thought that you just considered it a natural extension of...that.”

 

“I _was_ trolling you,” he admits easily, “because I finally ran out of patience. But this has never been a game for me.”

 

“So what now?”

 

“Well, ideally, I’d like to kiss you. I think I’m a pretty good kisser. Oh, and I won the bet on us,” he adds, “and after 5 years, the pot’s pretty sizeable, so where do you want to go on vacation?”

 

“Arya’s been running a _pool_ on us?!” Aisling takes a moment to decide if she should be offended, and decides not to be. “I’d always liked the UK,” she says wistfully.

 

“You want to go the UK with a Boston Irish?” Finn raises his eyebrows. “We can do that.”

 

“No fights,” she orders him.

 

“My mam raised me right,” he stretches, rolling his shoulders. “But only for you. Now, about the kissing....”

 

She makes a face at him, before tugging on his tie. “C’mere.”

 

He smiles as she pulls him down.

 

He _is_ a pretty good kisser.

 

\--

 

**Extra: Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner**

 

“I hate this,” Aisling mutters into her mike, sipping from her virgin strawberry margarita.

 

“Smile,” Finn orders, leaning in on the bar. “You’re supposed to be bait.” She certainly _looks_ like bait, her long brown hair loose around her and she’s in a deep green skintight sheath.

 

He can hear her roll her eyes. “For solicitation or a drug bust?”

 

“Hush,” he orders, trying not to laugh. Knowing their target, it could easily be both. “Be bait. Absorb the role. _Be_ the role.”

 

“Thank you for your excellent guidance,” she says dryly, but it must work, because he sees her relax and smile more naturally, and immediately their target is hooked.

 

Finn tries not to feel jealous about the target and Aisling’s smile. _It’s a role, she’d never smile at him normally._

 

_Why won’t she smile at_ me?

 

Yet Aisling is alone, and the target _needs_ a reason to come over. Finn swallows the last of his tonic water and moves over, startling Aisling when he puts a hand on her lower back. “Dance with me,” he says in her ear,  putting his hands on her hips and starting to sway.

 

“You’ll scare the target,” she starts to protest, but she sighs, leaning back against him and covering his hands with hers. “Don’t startle me like that.”

 

“Relax, I’m helping you look even more desirable,” he murmurs. “You’re an attractive twenty-something, and I’m also an attractive twenty-something. If I find you attractive, obviously you’re worth looking into.”

 

“That’s vanity,” she says, and she seems so light when she says it, and he grins.

 

“Justified. Okay, here he comes.”

 

“Mind if I cut in?” the target asks, and without waiting for a reply, shoulders him out of the way. Finn ambles back to the bar, watching as the target starts to attempt to flirt with Aisling.

 

He hears Aisling’s replies, and the target must be into dominant women.

 

It’s going well, though, and soon enough, the target makes the request for drugs “and someone to do it with, if you’d like,” and that’s when Aisling busts out the cuffs.

 

Finn grins. That’s his girl.

**Author's Note:**

> Finn is totally Boston Irish. Because yes.


End file.
